


The Plight of Misfits

by Alice_Rider



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Rider/pseuds/Alice_Rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schoolstuck! Rose LaLonde never fit in at school; labeled a freak and an outsider set her apart from her other classmates, and she'd slowly come to accept that maybe things weren't going to change and she'd just have to suck up the bullying for the rest of her school life. Until the day she met John and he teaches her that maybe things are never as bad as they seem, in his own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plight of Misfits

You usually avoided this route on a Tuesday at two o’clock, if someone caught you in the cemetery, it’d be fueling the onslaught of a fresh wave of goth-girl teases, but this was the quickest way home and the slight rain would scare most of the higher ups through better covered areas. Heaven forbid their paper skin be ruined.  
You liked to believe you were made of sturdier stuff, certainly the kind of stuff that wouldn’t be hurt by a little drizzle.  
At the very least, the rain afforded you a bit of time to pass by the graves a bit more slowly; you could decipher most of the names through over-grown moss; it was a lot easier to pay your respects to those you could actually make out.  
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else here; there never was. Maybe on some odd Sunday here and there, someone clad in black would stop by to drop off some flowers or to stand in front of a grave, but that was a rare occurrence. He certainly didn’t belong here.  
You weren’t sure what to make of him at first; he was tall and gangly, noticeable even under his turtleneck—turtleneck? Why was he wearing that thing? Sure it was raining, but August was as unforgiving as ever.—He had messy, floppy black hair and you could see the frames of some glasses sitting on his ears. He looked more like the kind of kid that got shoved into lockers every other day and was best friends with the janitor. He definitely didn’t belong here.  
You were going to let him be and walk past him and head for home, or, at least, that was the plan, but you notice something that stops you. There was something in his gait, an odd break in the rhythm of his steps; you try to play it off as a trick of the misty rain, but your gut tells you that’s not quite it. You squint your eyes through the haze of falling water and start counting his steps. One, two, break in the pattern. One, break in the pattern. One, two, three, break.  
He was limping. Badly.  
“Hey!” He didn’t turn; the rain had drowned you out. You run up closer to put a small hand on his bony shoulder. “Hey, are you ok?”  
He jumps a bit at your touch, then turns to face you.  
You scream. He screams. You both somehow end up butt first in the mud.  
“Why are you screaming?” Your voice comes out louder than intended out of shock, but the increasing fall of rain still almost cancels it out.  
“Because you’re screaming!” The panicked look in his eyes settles after a moment. “Why are you screaming?”  
“Your head…is…is…” You crawl over to him though the mud, effectively ruining your clothes; you really couldn’t be bothered at the moment, you had to stop the bleeding. You wipe your hands on your coat haphazardly, but you still can’t find it in you to touch it; still, you hover.  
“Oh, this?” He cocks his head to the side, more towards your hand but still not quite touching it, and smiles. “It’s nothing. Just a head wound. You know how they bleed.”  
“But there’s so much blood.” Your other hand reaches for something absent mindedly in pockets; from the depths of your coat, you produce your trusty kerchief and hand it to the boy. “At least clean it with this.”  
He takes it and holds it to his temple awkwardly. “Thanks.” After a second or so, his eyes light up like he’s remembered something he forgot. You blinked and missed the movement, but you find his hand stuck out stiffly in your direction and a goofy smile on his face; you notice his overbite this time. “Name’s John.”  
You meet his hand halfway hesitantly; his skin was icy from the rain. “Rose.” He’s smiling, but you’re still worried. “I noticed you were limping. Do you need me to take you to the hospital or…?”  
“No, it’s not so bad. I’ve had a lot worse.” There’s something in his voice that sounds like uncertainty.  
“At least let me help you home. You’ll catch your death in this rain. Where do you live?”  
His face went blank and that’s all he needed to say.  
You heft yourself up out of the dirt and wipe off the front of your clothes, offering him a hand when you’re sure you won’t both go tumbling back into the shifting mud. “Come on then, my house is over that hill. Let’s get out of the rain first before we do anything else.”  
So that’s how you came to fling his arm around your shoulder and lead a complete and total stranger named John to your house. He wasn’t as heavy as you expected, him being a whole head taller than you with limbs much too long for his stature.  
Even with your help, his limping left leg slowed both of you down enough that, by the time you unlock your front door, every layer of cloth you’d put on was soaked through and through.  
Your mother wasn’t home, you’ve never been happier about her long work days in your life, so you lead John to a stool by the kitchen and go in search of the first aid kit.  
“So, John,” you don’t think you can stand the awful silence that’s settled between the two of you, “how old are you?”  
“Hmm? Oh, I…” he pauses a moment, as though unsure, “I just turned thirteen…in April.” He didn’t sound all too sure of his answer. But you find him smiling widely at you and rocking on the uneven leg of the stool as you turn from the cabinet with medical tap and gauze; it brings a small smile to your face.  
“Are you from around here? I don’t remember seeing you at my school.”  
“Um…”  
You take a deep breath and try a different question. “Do you remember your address?”  
Blank is the only response you get.  
“Is there a phone I can call? Your mom or dad…?”  
His brow furrows, his eyes glaze over. “My…my dad…”  
“What’s his number? Do you remember?”  
He’s quiet for a few minutes. “My dad…he’ll miss me. He’ll miss me when I’m gone.” He makes no sign to move, just looks at the far wall as though all the answers to the universe were scribbled on it.  
“John, where are you going? What are you talking about?”  
His eyes land on you, but it was as if you weren’t there at all. “I want to go, but I don’t. It’s always so much fun, but it always makes Dad sad to say good-bye.”  
You try to grab his attention; you snap your fingers, wave your arms, call his name, hell, you even start jumping up and down, but nothing can snap him out of this trance. You’re invisible.  
He stood up suddenly, knocking over the stool with a loud bang; this, too, escapes his notice. “I have to go. I have to find my dad.”  
And, just like that, he’s gone. He never moves from that spot at the kitchen bar or looks at the door. He just evaporates into the thin air.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first story in a very long time, and I apologize for dropping off the face of the internet. I'm going to try my best to keep this going, but it'd definitely help if I got some feedback and such. Thanks!


End file.
